


Carpe Noctem

by supernovainparadise



Series: As Dusk Settles [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Evil Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, In this fic the inquisitor is NOT the Herald, Lavellan is the Herald of Andraste and can close rifts, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Red Lyrium, but Trevelyan holds the title of inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernovainparadise/pseuds/supernovainparadise
Summary: Avalon Lavellan has been cheated of everything he deserves. Of his position, of his training, of his decisions...Of the one person he loved.And he is determined to take his revenge, even if it means siding with the enemies.---Evanthe Trevelyan doesn't do well under stress. It upsets her, and she inevitably loses her temper. But she has been given one task, and she will see it through to the end; the Chantry must stay on top.---River is the bastard of one of the most powerful men in Thedas. And with that sort of standing, he has a lot to live up to... But he is terrified that he will be crushed under the weight of his father's position and his sister's holy war.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Raleigh Samson, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Raleigh Samson
Series: As Dusk Settles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746505
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Harvestmere 9:41 Dragon, Suledin Keep, Emprise du Lion

The Emprise Du Lion was easily Avalon's favorite spot in all of southern Thedas, regardless of what the others told him. Okay, maybe it was colder than shit out there, and maybe the Red Lyrium put a damper on things, but where else could you regularly see three ( _three_ ) different High Dragons soaring overhead in search of food, watching and laughing as the soldiers hunkered down for cover? Where else could you see the true majesty of Orlais's architecture? The coliseum northeast of the broken bridge, the grand statues built into the mountains, the chained tower that stretched up into the sky, and the crowning jewel of it all... Suledin Keep. It almost made him laugh; just how much of elvhen culture Orlais had stollen, and added onto, and claimed as their own, especially after the Red Crossing and Halamshiral.

Avalon Lavellan watched his breath cloud in the cold air in front of him, condensing and freezing almost as soon as it left his mouth. He glanced past that, further out and down the cliffs, into the valleys far below, the frozen river winding through the hills, where it vanished along its journey to meet the sea. He wouldn't lie; he had a certain fondness for the cold, he always had, and beyond that the frozen hills were simply _beautiful_. The frost and snow coating the trees and ground, leaving everything a fresh and sparking white, the icicles glimmering in the sun from where they hung below statues and bridges and the archways of Suledin Keep. The soft pale green of the Arbor Blessing vines that managed to thrive in this part of the Dales, even with the cold. Even the Red Lyrium was beautiful in a way, the bright and glowing red providing a stark contrast against the white snow. 

Or maybe it wasn't the beauty of the Emprise at all. Maybe it was simply the fact that the place was almost the direct opposite of the Western Approach, where his life had been turned so upside down. 

A particularly loud shout from the men beyond the door to the balcony shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned to send a glare over his shoulder just as they all burst into equally loud laughter. At the joyous noise, he felt some of his irritation fade and with a sigh and shake of his head he turned back to the landscape before him.

A few minutes later, the doors behind him opened and someone joined him out on the balcony. They were silent for a long moment, enjoying the cold air and companionable silence, before Avalon's visitor broke it.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

Avalon smirked a bit, reaching up and carding a hand through sandy hair. "Back at that day. When I left."

"Not good, then?"

Avalon sighed, resting his head in his hand. "Not good, but not bad either. Just thinking about how different this place is, and the people, and..."

"The company?"

Avalon straight up smiled at that, for the first time day. "Maybe the company is the best part."

"I'm honored, Herald."

Avalon winced at the title, and in a quiet voice said, "please don't call me that."

Samson, to his credit, merely sighed and rested a hand on the Dalish elf's shoulder. "'Course. Shouldn't have said it at all, especially when you're arse deep in bad memories."

Avalon glanced over his shoulder, mentally noting that Samson was out of his armor for once, though he was bundled in furs against the cold. It was unusual to see the General without the spiky armor, without the glow of Red Lyrium within blood shot eyes and a reclaimed sword strapped across his back. Avalon tried to cover the spike of concern he felt for the man, one of the few humans who had been truly kind to him since he left the Inquisition after the "incident" in the Western Approach. He looked much as he always did, eyes blood shot and red, skin pale and pallid, dark circles under his eyes and slightly ragged hair. Avalon would be lying if he said that he didn't care for the man's health at this point.

"You should stop taking that stuff," Avalon said, turning away from the hills and fully facing the General. "It's tearing you apart."

"Not with my armor!" Samson said, grinning broadly. "It's 'insulated', if ya know what I mean."

Avalon's frown deepened. "I know, but..." he simply shook his head, and they both turned back out the hills.

For a few more minutes, they sat and gazed out at the landscape as the last of the sunlight began to fade behind the mountains, and the cold truly began to set in. After the sun vanished entirely, they both turned and entered the interior of the keep, where the Red Templars were playing Diamond Back and Wicked Grace, trading stories over drinks, making bets on battles to come, and tending to their weapons and armors. A handful of Venatori were here as well, but they kept to themselves, tucked in the corners with books or food and drink. Most of them looked at him and sneered, believing him to be a servant. Some of the Templars were kinder, extending invites to him as he walked past them, which he declined with a small and a wave of his hand. Others viewed him with downright suspicion, waiting for him to inevitably turn his magic against them.

Funny of them to think so, when they worked for a Darkspawn Magister.

After a time, he reached his chambers, and bid a quiet goodnight to Samson before retreating inside to find his fireplace already lit and a hot bath drawn for him. A smile slid across his features as his thoughts drifted back to the man he had just parted ways with. He had no doubt that this generosity was Samson's doing. Normally he wouldn't have been so quick to ascribe blame, so to speak, but with Calpernia in the desert and the relative dis-ease many felt around him, it left little to the imagination as to who would have bothered.

Despite his self proclaimed love of the cold, even Avalon had to admit that it was nice to slip into the hot water and let the steam work the cold from his bones and stiffness from his muscles. The fireplace crackled merrily against the wind battering against the stone walls of the keep, a promise of another drop of snow in the night and dangerous conditions to anyone reckless enough to venture out against the blizzard.


	2. Bloomingtide 9:41 Dragon, Skyhold, The Frostbacks

Avalon closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, before releasing it in a shuddering sigh. He shifted from foot to foot, glancing out across the ruined fortress. Here, at the top of the mountains, at the edge of the sky, here he was beginning to crumble. He felt as though he were falling apart, piece by piece and bit by bit, as though the mark on his hand was slowly seeping past his wrist and invading his blood, his bones, his very soul...

Avalon took another deep breath and clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm hard enough to draw blood.

His ribs still ached with every move and every inhale, and he was noticing bruises and scrapes in places he hadn't noticed before, too numbed from adrenaline and cold and sheer will and... the flares of anger and hate.

How was it that _she_ was named the inquisitor? She was not the one at the conclave, not the one who had just closed the breach, who had held back Corypheus with nothing but an iron long sword and determination, knowing damn well that no matter what he did this was going to end poorly and that people were going to die, were already dead. She didn't have to live with that weight on her shoulders. She didn't have any weight on her shoulders, nothing but the so-called burden of being nobility.

So why was it that she took the lead? The command? The title?

_Because she is devout..._ a small voice whispered in the back of his head. _She is Andrastian, she is nobility, she isn't a mage, she. is. human._

She is everything that the Inquisition wants to represent them.

And Avalon? He was nothing. The Herald, sure, but he was Dalish and magic flowed through his veins, and he was elven. He may have the mark, he may bear the weight of the world, of the fade itself, but he would never so much as touch that sword, never sit upon the throne, never be anything other than what he was. He was fortunate to even be counted among her inner circle, the pilgrims muttered. He was fortunate to even be working with the inquisition in the first place, the nobles snapped. By the Grace of Her Worship... By the Mercy of the Inquisitor...

It made him sick.

"Herald?"

He whipped around on his heel, and immediately regretted the movement as a sharp and sudden pain lanced through his ribs and his right leg as he turned. "Yes?" he croaked, wincing and rubbing at his abdomen as he looked up to meet eyes of honey and gold and...

No. _He_ was practically hers already too. 

"Are you..." Cullen hesitated, glancing at him and frowning. "... doing alright?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." Avalon murmured, trying his best to stand up straight. "I imagine that's not what dragged you out of your tower to talk to me, however."

"Unfortunately not." Cullen said, and he looked genuinely sorry for it. "The Inquisitor sent me to tell you-"

"So you've been demoted to messenger now, then?" Avalon snapped, his teeth bared in a scowl.

Cullen blinked, and sighed. "No, she didn't, she just mentioned that I should say something if I saw you. She wanted you to meet her in the War Room with Cassandra."

"Oh," Avalon said quietly, sheepishly. "I'll head there right away then. Thank you, Commander."

Cullen merely nodded in response, but paused to clasp him on the shoulder as he passed, and leaned in, and whispered "I wanted to choose you."

Avalon's breath caught in his throat and he stumbled over his feet, Cullen's words ringing in his ears. He knew that he was likely referring to his position as Inquisitor, but he couldn't help but look at it in another way too. Couldn't help but dream; Keeper Deshanna always told him he was too attached to his daydreams. Too attached to the fantasies he saw in the fade.

But he kept Cullen's words in his heart, clutched like a precious item, like he held his mother's amulet, close to his chest as he walked up the stairs and into the main body of the fortress. And far too soon for his own liking, Lavellan knocked on the heavy wooden door, and was rewarded with a muffled "come in."

He stepped into the room, and was fairly certain that the temperature in the war room was at least several degrees colder than the hall between the room and Josephine's study. Cassandra was staring down at a map of Thedas that had been spread out over a makeshift wooden table. Evanthe Trevelyan looked straight at him, however, her gaze as unreadable as ever and face impassive. If he didn't know any better, he would assume she was tranquil at first glance.

"You asked for me, Inquisitor?" it took all of Avalon's strength not to spit the words out like poison on his tongue.

"Yes. Now that the position of command has been... passed on, so to speak, we must discuss the unique asset you lend to the inquisition." Evanthe responded, standing tall and tucking her hands behind her back, a lock of pitch black hair falling into her face.

"The mark?" Avalon asked, raising his left hand so the slight greenish glow is visible. 

"The breach may be closed," Cassandra broke in, "but rifts remain throughout Southern Thedas, and quite possibly beyond. Solas has since discovered alternate ways of closing the rifts, but the mark remains the most effective method."

"Yes," Evanthe said, nodding slightly. "But it is... unwise to ask you to journey out on your own."

"I can travel with the soldiers," Avalon suggested, probably too quickly judging by Evanthe's raise of an eyebrow.

"We considered that. But it feels like we're asking for trouble, should we do so. Many people know Inquisitor Trevelyan, but many people know you as well. And several of the people who do know you have a grudge to hold." Cassandra said, reaching up to massage at her temples. "It would be safest for you to travel with the Inquisitor, but it limits you to wherever the Inquisitor is traveling and her mission within that area."

"... so what are you saying?" Avalon asked, his breath catching somewhere between his chest and his lips.

"That you'll be spending a good deal of time in Skyhold." Evanthe said. "We'll be relying mainly on the alternate methods, but I require that you stay with the Inquisition in case the alternate methods fail. Dismissed, Herald."

With that, Avalon turned and stalked out of the war room, not bothering to catch the door and ease it shut, almost savoring the loud noise that echoed against the broken stone and further into the valley.


	3. Late Harvestmere 9:41 Dragon, ???, The Dales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Calendar
> 
> Understanding the timeline of this fic is heavily dependent on the understanding of the Thedas Calendar. I have now provided a link to the said calendar. Please leave comments, as they make my day a little bit brighter! Guest or otherwise.

They'd lost Emprise du Lion and Suledin keep. Been all but kicked out by Her Worship, the mighty Inquisitor herself! Luckily for them, both Avalon Lavellan and Raleigh Samson were elsewhere when they invaded the keep and only found out the news from Imshael, who was more than pleased to inform them that he had struck a _very_ beneficial deal with Evanthe, and narrowly avoided being skewered by Samson's sword before scurrying off to whatever hole in the Fade he usually lived in.

Now, they were hunkered down further north in an average-sized lodge, hidden deep within the Emerald Graves, away from the roads or any ruins that might entice scholars. Luckily, bands of Red Templars still roamed the forest, keeping the Inquisition's large force at bay, and also barring back the Orlesian war. Not that they would have gone this far into the Dales anyways, as most Orlesians believe it to be haunted by the spirits of angry elves and their summoned demons, ready to tear into human flesh for ancient transgressions and serve it on a plate to their gods. The idea made Avalon chuckle; he doubted the Evanuris would be overly pleased at receiving an offering of fresh Orlesian. He certainly wouldn't.

Maybe fresh Inquisitor would be preferred?

But thoughts of the Inquisition, of war and blood and death, were far from Avalon's mind for the moment. Instead, he listened to the rain as it fell softly outside the room, and watched the flickering candlelight on the walls as he organized his alchemy cabinet and Samson polished his sword. The smell of wet earth, his myrhh candles, and lyrium drifted lazily through the air of the cabin. It was soothing, Avalon thought, to be back in the place he now considered to be "home". Beyond that, there was something almost... domestic, about Samson's presence here. About the soft silence, apart from the clinking of glass jars against the wood and the occasional spark from the candles. Something about the fact that when Avalon would glance back over his shoulder, he'd sometimes find the man watching him, a content look on his face. And Samson never looked away. Merely smiled back softly in return, and then they went back to what they had been working on before.

That small, oh-so evil voice in the back of his head reminded him that this peace would never last. That Samson's health, which was beginning to improve as he began taking less red lyrium (at Avalon's request) would soon fail again. That all of this would eventually crumble at the hands of the same person everything else had; Evanthe Trevelyan.

Avalon glanced down and noticed that his hands were shaking. He took in a deep breath, carefully setting the potions back in their cabinet and closing the door; enough of that for the night. When he turned back around, he noticed Samson's gaze on him. He gave him a soft, shaky smile. "I'm fine. It's fine."

Samson set his sword aside and stood, taking a few cautious steps forward. "It's not," he said in a voice that was uncharacteristically gentle. "What's wrong?" Samson looked at him imploringly, his features soft with concern.

"... this won't last. This peace, these tiny pieces of good we've managed to dig out of the cold hands of the world..." Avalon whispered face taught with emotion. He looked up at Samson, his emotions laid out plainly in front of him. "It will end in blood, and in death. As all things do..."

Samson sighed, and reached out, gently taking one of Avalon's hands in his own. "Not this. I'm not sure what we have between us but..." Samson ran his fingers over the elf's knuckles, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "... I'm not letting it end if I can help it."

Avalon knew that the words were meant to be a balm, a sort of way to calm him.

It didn't work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to formally apologize to Michel de Chevin, who is one of my favorite characters. Also, for the short chapter. Next one will be longer, and introduce the third major player in this AU.


	4. Justinian 9:41 Dragon, Skyhold, The Frostbacks

River had been in Skyhold for a day, a _day_ , and he was already frustrated and irritated. His half-sister seemed like she couldn't care less about her inner circle, and even less about her soldiers and scouts. It irked him more than he could truly say. The way she treated them was reminiscent of the way many of Tevinter's magisters treated their slaves... something he was very familiar with. He had suspected that it would be like that, that she wouldn't have changed much from the last time he saw her, but he had hoped that she would at least take it upon herself to act kinder, to fake it even if she was unable to truly be a good person. But no, it appeared that even the lofty position of inquisitor did nothing to lower her sense of self-worth and her lack of priority.

He sighed, and adjusted the collar of his robes and wiped at the kohl lining his eyes in an attempt to even it, which almost worked. With a sigh he stepped back, and ran a hair through his black locks, ruffling it in a way that could be considered roguish among aristocrats, but not so much that he appeared common. Maker only knows what the results would be if he appeared to be a commoner... he could almost hear his father lecturing him on the importance of his appearance. The thought nearly made him smile, just as it made his chest ache with homesickness.

Today's style properly addressed, River stalked out of the room his sister had so generously given him and onto the wall just above the gardens. It was late enough that the gardeners and a handful of Chantry brothers and sisters were wandering among the plants and statues, but early enough that it was not yet busy. He inhaled a deep breath of the mountain air and told himself that today would be better, that today would make up for his first day at Skyhold, that today...

Today he would begin anew-

-and apparently, today would begin by walking right into the Herald of Andraste while he was distracted by his own treacherous mind.

Both men stumbled, and though River managed to keep his balance, Lavellan did not, landing on the stone and just barely catching himself with his hands. River turned quickly, and noticed that the papers the man had been holding were scattered across the ground. Lavellan rose to his knees and began to gather them, as did River, grabbing those that had fluttered out of the elf's reach before offering him a hand and a smile. He half expected Lavellan to slap his hand away or scowl, but instead he returned the smile and accepted the help. River handed him back his papers as well.

"Sorry about that," River said. "I should have been paying more attention."

Lavellan smiled back at him. "It's fine! I should have as well. I've been rather... distracted, lately."

River nodded, he could understand that. He caught himself, and stuck out a hand. "River Trevelyan," he said, using his mother's surname. "I'm Evanthe's brother."

Lavellan's smile became a little strained at that, but he still shook his hand. "Avalon Lavellan. It's good to meet you, River."

With the Herald taken care of, River set about meeting the rest of the Inner Circle. He started with Vivienne, then moved onto Varric, and from there made the rounds about Skyhold until he reached the last area for the morning; the Library. He walked up the steps from the rotunda after introducing himself to the elven apostate (Solas) at the bottom level. The library was quiet, with a handful of mages and researches wandering among the shelves. A tranquil woman leaned over a nearby table, examining what looked to be a collection of bones on a table. He gave her a wide berth, while also keeping his eyes out for a particular man. It didn't take him long to track him down. Dorian was flipping through a book in an alcove, quiet and sheltered from both Solas's study below and Leliana's roost above. River took a deep breath, before stepping forward and knocking on the bookshelf in front of him to grab the mage's attention.

It worked, and Dorian turned around from the window and looked up from his book to see who was there. When he spotted River, his face broke out in a toothy grin as he set the book down on the arm of his overstuffed chair.

"If it isn't one of the only heirs I can actually stand!" Dorian laughed, stepping forward and pulling River into a tight hug.

"It's good to see you too, Dorian," River said, and the two stepped back, a little too soon for River's taste, though he would never be stupid enough to say so. "Though it saddens me to see you without Felix."

Dorian's smile faded a little at that. "Yes, well, you know he wouldn't want us to mourn him. 'Celebrate my life,' he said before we parted last. I intend to do good on that."

River nodded, swallowing hard. He had seen Felix only a few weeks ago, before he'd left the Imperium to help his sister as she'd requested in his letter. It was so difficult to believe that in such a short amount of time, the younger man had passed on. "With luck he's found himself some measure of peace."

"We can only hope..." Dorian sighed, and River reached out and gently squeezed the altus's hand. Dorian offered him a soft smile in return for the gesture. "But enough about that, my friend, how have you been?"

They got to talking, River updating Dorian on his journey to Skyhold and the goings on in Minrathous, and in return Dorian told him what had happened with the Inquisition since he'd joined. They moved onto magical theory, and then onto gossip about the magisterium, and before long the morning had passed them by and River was called upon by his darling sister. Though he was loath to leave the companionship and friendly company he'd found in Dorian, he bid the young man goodbye and headed up to the Inquisitor's chambers. He mounted the stairs, but paused before the final door. He considered simply turning back, returning to that sunny alcove with Dorian and letting the afternoon pass him by, but instead steeled himself and reached for the door, knocking twice before a familiar, cold voice called "enter".

He pushed the door open and mounted the last set of stairs. Evanthe sat at her desk, forehead resting on her hand as she frowned down at the parchment resting in front of her, pen resting in her fingers. She barely glanced up as her half-brother walked into the room, pausing before her desk.

"You know of the war in Orlais, correct?"

River frowned; he hadn't expected the conversation to start like this. "I hold one of the highest positions in Tevinter, of course I know about the war," he responded through gritted teeth. How stupid did she think he was?

"According to what Lavellan and Pavus saw in the future at Redcliffe, Corypheus plans to assassinate the empress and use the ensuing chaos to conquer her armies and Orlais." Evanthe sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. "Leliana believes they will strike at the upcoming Masquerade at the Winter Palace. Loath as I am to admit it, your very presence may serve as a deterrence to his spies, and will certainly help deter the Venatori."

"So you want me to, what? Sit there and look pretty?" River asked, his lips pressed tight.

"That's what you're best at, isn't it?" Evanthe snapped, a decisive note of bitterness in her voice.

"I am a powerful mage, practically a _general_ of the highest degree. No, that's not I'm best at." River spat, and the pair stayed there for a moment, River's eyes burning with anger and Evanthe's hands shaking.

"... just make sure you're there." Evanthe hissed, and River spun on his heel and stalked out of her quarters, Evanthe's words still ringing in his ears.

_That's what you're best at, isn't it?_


End file.
